


if this feeling flows both ways

by badskeletonpuns



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Communication, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/badskeletonpuns
Summary: A new repository for my King Falls AM tumblr prompts and fics under 2K—in complete honesty, it's most likely going to be samben all the way down. Tags will be updated as fics are posted.





	1. it isn't over; it's just begun

**Author's Note:**

> written from the tumblr prompts of "things you said when you thought i was asleep" and "things you said after you kissed me," cross-posted [here!](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/180074888102/things-you-said-when-you-thought-i-was-asleep) Samben emotional fluff and smooching, as is my brand.

Ben sat on the floor next to his couch, watching an infomercial play silently on the TV and listening to Sammy sleep behind him. 

It had been one of those long days. One that had stretched into an even longer night. 

The two of them were making their way forward as much as they could, but it was beginning to feel like two steps forward, one step back. Sure, he finally got his best friend out of the house to talk to other people, but then Mayor Grisham ran campaign ads on King Falls public access TV all day long. Maybe Sammy was finally willing to say something about Jack, but then he worked himself up into a guilty panic attack over it all. 

So. Things just kept coming. 

At least Sammy seemed to be sleeping soundly now. Lord knew he needed it. 

“I hope we’re gonna be okay,” Ben whispered. He glanced behind him, ensuring that Sammy’s eyes were still securely closed and his breathing stayed even. Once he was certain, he settled back leaning against the couch and stared at the TV screen blankly. 

“I try my best to be optimistic for you, for Emily, for _ us _ . I want everything to turn out fine so badly, it kind of hurts.” Ben sighed heavily. He let his head loll back against the couch cushions. “I just… There’s just so much happening, buddy. I don’t know if we’re all gonna make it through.” 

He grimaced to himself after that last bit. “Ugh. Can’t believe I’m turning into a cynic. Gross.” 

“S’okay.”

Ben stiffened at the voice from behind him and turned to see Sammy, whose eyes were barely open wide enough to see Ben. Sammy cleared his throat and shifted forward, butting his head against Ben’s. “You don’t have to be so optimistic all the time,” he murmured, voice still rough and heavy with sleep. He stopped for a second and wrinkled his nose. “Do you have the bad morning breath or is it me?” 

“Probably both of us,” Ben admitted. “A dinner of Skittles and popcorn will do that.” 

Sammy nodded. “Sounds about right.” He turned away from Ben to yawn, settling back into the couch and blinking slowly. 

“You should go back to sleep,” Ben encouraged. The light from the TV screen flickered across their faces, shadows thrown in all directions. Ben lifted his hand to touch Sammy’s hair but thought better of it halfway through the motion and dropped his arm back to his side. 

Probably would send mixed signals if he started doing things like that without having the polyamory talk first. 

Which. Ben would get around to that talk soon, definitely. 

Sammy glanced over at him and raised his eyebrows. “You alright, buddy?” 

Well. No time like the present. Ben took a deep breath, twisting his hands together in his lap. Now or never, and all that. 

“So, Sammy… You know how like, I’ve been dating Emily?”

Sammy laughed a little. He rolled back over on the couch to face Ben. “Been a little hard to miss.” 

Ben flushed, dark enough that it was visible even in the room’s dim light. “Yeah. About that. I kind of… need to tell you something?” 

“Are you okay?” Sammy propped himself up on one elbow. “Are you and Emily okay?” He winced and paled. “I haven’t… Me staying with you isn’t messing you guys up, right?” Sammy chewed on his lip and looked off to one side, away from Ben’s face. 

Ben shook his head violently. He got up on his knees, turning to face Sammy full on. “No, no, like, the opposite of that! I promise, you’re fine.” At some point when he was talking, he’d taken one of Sammy’s hands in his, and put his other hand on Sammy’s shoulder. 

Sammy was looking back at him now. 

It might have been Ben’s imagination that Sammy’s eyes flickered down to his lips before Sammy met his gaze. “So, um,” Ben began. His voice cracked a little and he laughed at himself, in spite of the serious moment. “I’m sorry if this is a super weird or inappropriate question, but Emily and I were talking and… Have you ever read anything about polyamorous relationships?” 

There was silence in Ben and Sammy’s living room. 

Behind the two of them, the channel dissolved into black and white static. The room was cast into sharp relief, bringing out stark angles in Sammy’s face and intensifying the dark circles that hung under his eyes. 

“It’s probably a really bad time for this actually,” Ben continued, no longer able to bear the silence. “You know, given the shadows and the Jack thing and oh man I shouldn’t have brought that up, huh? What if we just forget--Sammy, are you crying? Oh, Jack in the Box Jesus, I am so sorry.” 

Ben tried to pull away, but Sammy held their clasped hands tight. “No, wait!” he got out, and it was then that Ben realized Sammy was smiling through his tears. “Ben,” he said. “You’re ridiculous. You’re also a genius, and… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Sammy was smiling so big at him then, soft even in the harsh TV light. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either,” Ben responded. “And. Sometimes I would also like to kiss you. If that’s okay?” 

Sammy snorted and shook his head. He scrubbed at his face with one hand, attempting in vain to get his hair out of his eyesight without any way to put it up. “You have no idea how okay that is.” He sighed and sat upright. “As soon as I get my hair out of the way.” 

“Here, let me help.” Ben got up on the couch next to Sammy and pulled a hair tie off of his wrist. “I used to help with hair for the theater sometimes, and I can still do some pretty sweet braids if I put my mind to it.” 

The two of them shifted on the couch so Ben sat behind Sammy. He didn’t do any of those sweet braids this time around, choosing instead to  carefully gather Sammy’s hair into a neat ponytail. 

Maybe he took a few extra seconds to comb his fingers through the soft waves of it, tugging out a couple tangles as gently as he could. 

Sammy probably wouldn’t mind. 

Once he was done, Ben couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss the side of Sammy’s neck where it was bared by the over-stretched collar of his pajama shirt. 

Sammy tipped his head to one side, seemingly almost on instinct. 

“We should probably talk about this,” Ben whispered. His eyes were locked on the arch of Sammy’s neck, the curve where it met his shoulders and back, the freckles that spattered over his pale skin… 

“Mmhmm,” Sammy agreed. He twisted around, gazing at Ben with eyes dark as midnight and twice as deep. 

“On second thought,” Ben breathed. “Maybe we can talk later.” 

And then Sammy was kissing him, lips and skin hot in every place he was pressed against Ben. Ben shivered; he pushed forward into Sammy, trying to imprint every facet of this moment into his mind. Sammy’s hands came up to grab Ben’s waist and tug him even closer.

Or at least, Ben assumed that had been what he was trying to do. 

As opposed to still being twisted around and unbalancing himself and then pulling Ben off balance as well, bringing both of them tumbling off of the couch onto the floor. 

Sammy lay on his back, with Ben having landed partially between him and the couch and partially on him. 

For a second, they both sat in stunned silence.

Ben was the first one to break out of their shock as he began to laugh. 

Sammy couldn’t help but grin up at him. “Laughing at my pain, huh?” He reached up to shove at Ben’s shoulder. Ben caught Sammy’s hand with his own, bringing it to his face to kiss the back of his knuckles.

“Does it help if I kiss it better?” he teased. 

“Gee, I don’t know,” Sammy answered. “Maybe you should try again?” 

And. Well. There was no way Ben could argue with that. 


	2. every morning the maple leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written because I heard that Sammy and Ben were living together and being like INSUFFERABLY domestic and adorable. Could be read as platonic.

Sammy wakes up fast, these days. 

Not that he’d slept well in King Falls at all ever, but hey. You give up a lot when you try to hunt down your missing fiancé in a weird-ass town in the middle of nowhere. 

You gain some things, too. 

Sammy comes awake with a harsh gasp, cold air dragging down his throat like knives. The heat must have gone out again. It went out for the whole building off and on, and it got them a pretty sweet discount on the rent, but still. 

Not fun in mountain winters. 

He opens his eyes to the popcorn-white ceiling, blinking the sleep away as best he can. There was no way he was going to go back to sleep, not when there’s the fading sound of Jack calling his name from masses of shadows still ringing in his ears. 

Fuck nightmares, honestly. 

Sammy rolls out of bed, dragging the comforter with him. He doesn’t bother turning on the light as he shuffles out of his room, heading out to the apartment’s small kitchen. It’s bright enough outside that the sun must have already risen, but cold enough that it can’t have been up for long. 

He slept for longer than he usually had, at least. That was something. 

There’s not really a need to turn on a light with the sun coming through the window. Besides, the extra light might sneak its way under Ben’s door and wake him up. Lord knows he’s up late enough doing… whatever conspiracy-uncovering dangerous planning he’s doing this time. Sammy sighs a little at the thought, his breath clouding in the air before him. 

Shit, it was way too cold in there. 

He makes his way over to the fridge, pulling out the overnight oats he’d set up the night before. It’s just about perfect, thick with almond milk and real oats and fresh berries. Sammy gives them a quick stir before transferring the dish into a bowl to serve and snagging some of the pre-chopped nuts from a baggie in the cupboard. 

The nuts were a new addition. 

He’s not sure how much more domestic he can get with Ben before someone (Lilly, he’s certain of it) starts making  _ housewife _ jokes at him. 

If Sammy’s honest, he’s not sure he minds the idea. 

The jokes would suck, yeah. 

But he likes the comfortable routine he has with Ben. It’s safe. Reliable. Both of which have been in remarkably short supply for both men in King Falls lately, so… Sammy appreciates it, is all. 

He hopes Ben does too. 

Speaking of his friend, he can just make out the sound of Ben swearing as he wakes up and realizes how damn cold it is. 

Hopefully the smell of the toast Sammy just put into the toaster will be enough to lure him out into breakfast, despite the cold temperature. 

It’s only been a few seconds when Ben leaves his room, wrapped in his own comforter tightly enough that his face and a few stray curls of dark hair are visible under it. 

“Hello there, Dumbledore,” Sammy says as brightly and cheerily as he can manage. “Lovely robes you’ve got there.” 

Ben flips him off. 

But he’s grinning at Sammy and he still walks over to lean against him for a moment before heading to the counter, so Sammy’s counting this one as a win. 

“I’d have hugged you, but it’s way too cold to let any essential limbs leave the blanket,” Ben explains. He eyes the bowl of oats in front of him like a man dying of thirst faced with a glass of water on the other side of a pit of tigers. “Also,” he continues, switching his gaze to Sammy to raise an eyebrow on him. “Glass house, throwing stones, much, Mr. Blanket Man?” 

“I made breakfast so you’re not allowed to tease me,” Sammy claims. 

“I can’t hear you over the sound of me eating these oats,” Ben says, and Sammy lets it go. Ben’s attempt at wielding a spoon to bring the oats from the bowl to his face without letting more than a few fingers leave his blanket cocoon is more than hilarious enough to let him win this one. 

It’s nice.

Nicer than it should be, probably. 

Sammy’s playing at something he doesn’t deserve with this. Ben’s got Emily, happy and loving and stable in a way Sammy’s not sure he’ll ever be able to be again. And he’s got… Jack. And a lot of nightmares that feature Jack, across a gulf of void and shadow that just keeps getting wider. 

He turns away from Ben, pretending to be engrossed in cleaning out the dishes he’d dirtied making the oats last night. Dishes had to be done, right? 

And if you were doing those dishes because you couldn’t stand to look your best friend in the eyes or you might cry, again, well…

That was no one’s business but your own. 

“Sammy, I keep telling you that you don’t have to do the dishes all the time.” 

Ben must have given up on staying securely wrapped, because he’d finished the oats far faster than his careful eating a few moments ago had implied he would. He stands behind Sammy now, blanket looser around his shoulders and eyes so dark and kind Sammy can’t even stand it. 

There’s a lump in his throat so big it hurts, and he just shrugs and shakes his head. “You know me,” he gets out around it somehow, “I’m Mr. Clean!” He holds up the sponge and wet dish like they’ll explain how he keeps having to blink away watery eyes. 

“You’re gonna get dishwater on your blanket,” Ben murmurs, and he moves into Sammy’s space to take both items from his grasp and set them in the sink. “C’mon, it’s way too cold out here. I’ve got a space heater in my room.” He, blessedly, does not mention the tears. 

Sammy lets himself be led through the kitchen and back into the hallway, stopping only once they’re both outside of Ben’s door. “I… Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure,” Ben says, and he has to get up on his tiptoes to kiss Sammy on the forehead and it’s so fucking adorable that Sammy can’t do anything but follow him into his room. 

Ben turns back to him the moment they’re both inside, flushed beet red. “Sorry, sorry, that was probably like, way too weird. Emily says I should work on like articulating my feelings more? But I just, I’ve got like a lot of feelings, and sometimes it’s easier to—”

Sammy has to hug him. There’s nothing else he can do with Ben babbling at him like that, like the way he tripped over his words when he first talked to Emily, blushing and beaming and still unfairly cute. “It’s okay,” he says. And he knows they’ll have to talk about it later, but later is later and now is not the time. 

It’s too cold for heavy discussions. 

Feelings can wait until after Ben turns on his space heater. After they fall asleep piled under several blankets on Ben’s bed, curled into a space really only meant for one. After they wake up at whatever speed they want, at whatever time they feel like. 

Or maybe the feelings are spread throughout all of that, big and bright and everything love should be, unspoken still. 

Sammy’s too tired to think about that right now. And if the way Ben is yawning into his shoulder is any indication, Ben is also way too tired. Yeah. They can definitely afford to wait on that particular discussion. 


	3. here's my heart (oh take and seal it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night terrors and soft feelings. From the prompt "things you said when you were scared," cross-posted to tumblr [right here.](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/180990805572/things-you-said-when-you-were-scared-samben)

Ben sat bolt upright in bed, breath coming harsh and fast. He was sweating through the sheets, blanket twisted into knots around his legs until he kicked it all the way off. The tail end of his dream was still etched into his mind, a razor-sharp image of Sammy silhouetted in front of an endless void. 

He knew Sammy was still here. His best friend hadn’t reached out into that darkness. Sammy hadn’t taken steps out past the boundaries of reality or vanished into that abyss, just like Jack had, years ago.

Ben knew that Sammy was fine. He was probably still sleeping, just the next door down from Ben. Even so, the idea of that creeping blackness consuming him would not leave Ben’s mind. 

Maybe he’d just go check on Sammy for a second. 

It was dark enough outside that the moon must have already set; which meant it was probably at least three or four am right now. 

Ben slipped out of bed, trying to slow his breathing to a more regular pace. 

In and out, in and out. One step at a time. 

He made his way through the darkness toward the thin line of light at the base of his door from the hallway. They usually left the light on nowadays; between the two of them, they had enough nightmares and got up often enough at night that it was worth it. 

The wooden floor of the hallway was bitingly cold against his bare feet. Ben winced slightly at the sensation, but kept moving. 

Getting to Sammy’s door took only a few seconds. Ben stood in front of the door for a moment, hesitating. There was no light shining through the edges where the door met the frame, so hopefully Sammy was still asleep. 

It was probably creepy to go into your friend’s bedroom to see if he was asleep in there. 

But Ben also did not want to wake up Sammy if he didn’t have to. 

He’d just look in for a second. He was just reasonably concerned for Sammy’s safety, after all. 

It wasn’t like his heart was still racing and it was stupidly hard to keep breathing regularly and he didn’t want to try and sleep because every time he closed his eyes he saw Sammy vanishing into the void or into the UFOs or disappearing in a hundred other ways. Definitely not that. 

A draft teased its way down the hall, trailing cold air over every inch of Ben’s exposed skin. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself tightly. The thin t-shirt Ben usually wore to bed didn’t keep out much of the chill, even when paired with his long cotton pants. 

Okay, he had to stop standing outside of Sammy’s door like this. Freezing temperatures aside, he was just getting creepier and creepier the longer he waited here. 

Maybe he should knock after all? 

He didn’t want to wake Sammy up if he didn’t have to, but if he knocked quietly it should be fine. If Sammy didn’t answer, he was probably asleep, and Ben could stick his head in for just a second. And. Say something normal. He’d figure out what exactly to say in the moment. 

Ben was just raising his hand to knock when the door swung open away from him. Sammy started back, away from the now open doorway. 

“Shit, Ben, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” 

“I could say the same to you!” Ben sputtered, backpedaling until he hit the wall behind him. The handle to a closet door dug into his back with the movement and he flinched slightly, but remained pressed against the side of the hallway.

Sammy folded his arms. “Really. The guy who was just standing outside my bedroom door at ass o’clock is gonna call the kettle black, huh?” 

“I mean—” Ben paused. He let his gaze drop away from Sammy (away from the tightness in his shoulders, away from the scabs on his hands where he bit his nails when he was anxious, away from the way he kept  _ looking _ at Ben like Ben could fix things), to stare at literally anything else in the hallway. It sure would have been nice if the hallway light hadn’t been on and he could have had at least a vague hope that Sammy couldn’t tell how much he was blushing. “You got me there,” Ben admitted at last, scrubbing at his face with one hand. 

Sammy walked out of his room and put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. God, Ben couldn’t take the way Sammy smiled at him. Not normally and especially not now, the both of them sleep-deprived and Ben still on edge from his nightmares. 

Ben fell more than stepped forward; he nearly collapsed into Sammy’s arms. The two of them stood still in the middle of the hallway, hugging each other close. Ben closed his eyes and pushed his face into Sammy’s shoulder. 

Sometimes it was nice to be short. 

“Seriously though, are you feeling okay?” Sammy asked. He moved to pull away from Ben, probably do something sensible like look him in the eyes or keep a responsible platonic distance between the two of them. Ben didn’t let go, instead keeping his arms clasped around Sammy’s waist and his face pressed into Sammy’s shoulder. 

“M’fine,” Ben mumbled. His heartbeat was still going like, super fast, and he had the feeling that if he tried to hold his hands still, he wouldn’t be able to. But he was fine. He just needed to stand here and hug Sammy for another two hours, maybe. Until he didn’t feel like there was a giant hand pressing down on his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. 

“Of course,” Sammy agreed. “Only completely fine people stand outside their best friend’s bedroom in the middle of the night to terrify him out of his wits.” 

Ben pulled back; he still didn’t let go, but he did want to look at Sammy. “I wasn’t trying to scare you! I...” 

Now that he could see Sammy, he couldn’t stop noticing little things about him. The fluorescent hallway lights weren’t kind to anyone, and they highlighted the sallow undertones in Sammy’s skin, the shadowed planes of his face. He’d lost weight since all of this shit started going down.

To be fair, so had Ben. He doubted that he looked any better than Sammy. 

But Ben didn’t have Sammy’s messy curls of blond hair falling into his face; didn’t have Sammy’s hands, a comforting weight on Ben’s shoulders; didn’t have Sammy’s eyes with those smile lines or the dimple on his left cheek. 

“You still there?” Sammy prompted. 

Ben swallowed. “Nothing. Nevermind. You’re right, I shouldn’t have been standing there.” 

Sammy raised his eyebrows. “You sure agreed awful fast.” 

Ben shook his head. “I—can we maybe talk about this later? It’s been… It’s been a night.” 

“Nightmares?” Sammy asked. Ben nodded. He let Sammy pull him into another hug, let him tuck Ben’s head under his chin. 

“I don’t, um.” Ben exhaled and clutched at Sammy’s shirt almost instinctively. “I don’t get them like you? You know. The people I love are all still here mostly. I don’t have…” He trailed off, unwilling or unable to say Jack’s name aloud, he wasn’t sure which. 

Sammy nodded, the motion knocking his head against Ben’s. “I know, buddy. It’s okay.” 

Things probably weren't really that okay. Here, though, wrapped in his best friend’s arms, warmed by his closeness and love… 

Ben felt like they could be okay. Even with everything falling down around them, somehow, as long as they had nights like this, things were going to be okay. 


	4. the left hand sings the right hand back to sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "I don't want to be alone right now," from the wonderful feuer-fight on tumblr. [Cross-posted on tumblr here!](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/180992192722/i-dont-want-to-be-alone-right-now-samben) (I am always taking samben ficlet requests.)

He didn’t know how they’d gotten to this point. 

Ben’s hands, hot on his face and so damn gentle. Ben’s eyes, dark and sad and never looking away from Sammy for a moment. Sammy felt pinned to the spot by those eyes, unable to move from where the two of them clutched each other on Ben’s couch. 

Sammy hadn’t wanted to stay in his own apartment. 

Broken glass aside, even with Ben next to him Sammy’s apartment had felt so fucking empty. It was like it had been in the first few days he’d been here, when he’d seen Jack reflected in every window, hunted for him through night after night of fruitless research. 

Now he sat next to Ben on his couch, so close as to be almost in the other man’s lap. Both of them were near crying, Sammy’s voice hoarse and broken from his earlier tears. 

“Ben, I don’t want to be alone right now, but. You don’t have to stay, I just—”

_ You don’t look anything like him, but the first time I walked into the studio and you were so serious about General Abilene I could have sworn it was him arguing with me. _

“Sammy, Sammy, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Ben was humming something Sammy didn’t recognize, something soft and calming, while he stroked Sammy’s hair and held his hand tight. 

_ That week you wouldn’t stop singing Grease and I had to listen to you make your way through the entire soundtrack every break… I wanted to strangle you, but I think that was the first time I really saw you for you. Ridiculous and singing your heart out and so damn lovely.  _

Sammy took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into Ben’s shoulder. “M’getting your shirt wet,” he got out between breaths. 

“It’s okay,” Ben promised. “It’s okay,” he said again, his voice cracking and somehow Sammy didn’t think he was just talking about the shirt anymore. 

_ You were never the new Jack and fuck Lily for saying so, but you have the same spark and I guess that’s what I’m a sucker for, every time. _

Sammy couldn’t breathe for a minute, winding both of his hands into Ben’s shirt and clutching like the world would end if he let go. Maybe it would. At this point, who was he to say what was going to tear their universe apart? “I never meant for it to get this far,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to lie, I didn’t want you to see me any differently,” a litany of apologies for everything he could possibly think of. 

And Ben just held him. Murmured words Sammy couldn’t quite make out but were comforting all the same, held him close and let him cry into his shirt. At some point he tugged the hair tie out of Sammy’s bun, already mostly falling apart, and gently unwound Sammy’s hair from the day’s knots and tangles. It was nice. Far nicer than Sammy deserved.

When at last Sammy had said everything he’d been holding in for three goddamn years—or at least the gist of it—he just breathed. He breathed deep and slow, trying to hide the hitch in his voice, the way the air caught in his throat. 

Ben’s apartment was still dark, neither of them having bothered to turn on the light on their way in. They were close enough to see each other clearly, even with solely moonlight to illuminate the scene. 

Sammy drew away from Ben, just far enough to look him in the eyes. His eyes were so worried, creased up at the corners and mouth pulled tight, tears still welling up at their edges. “I... “ Sammy began, but after his previous monologue it felt like he had run out of words for the next long while. He just shook his head again. 

Ben leaned forward till their foreheads touched; they were so close that Sammy could feel the warmth of his skin between them. 

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. 

He could hear Ben take a breath before he spoke, not moving his face away from Sammy’s. 

“I’d never judge you for anything like that, Sammy.” He laughed a little, a hitch in the sound almost like a sob. “It’d be real fuckin’ hypocritical.” 

“I… What?” Sammy shook his head, almost knocking into Ben. He sniffled a little, a wry smile just barely tugging at the corner of his lips. “I feel like I should be asking why you didn’t tell me sooner, but uh…” 

“Don’t wanna call the kettle black?” Ben teased. He sighed before Sammy could respond, and leaned against Sammy’s shoulder. His voice was muffled when he spoke again. “Bi, if you were wondering about Emily. Remember Dwayne?” 

“The farm guy with the crop circles?” Sammy nodded as he spoke.

Ben nodded before Sammy finished speaking, his movements pulling at Sammy’s shirt. “We dated in high school.” 

Sammy smiled. A small smile to be sure, but it was there. “I knew there had to be a reason you let him call you Benny.”

Ben shoved at Sammy a little, smiling back at him. “That’s not what I came here to talk about and you know it.”

At that, Sammy’s face fell again. “Buddy, I don’t….” He breathed in once, twice, drawing in oxygen like it was courage. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m never gonna find Jack, I don’t have that. That _ spark _ that you have.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?” 

Next to him on the couch, Ben sat back a little and crossed his arms. He wasn’t smiling anymore either, the moonlight casting stark shadows across the planes of his face, lending it a stern demeanor Sammy normally didn’t see on his face. “Bullshit,” he said again. “You’ve got more spark than anyone in this fucking town, including me.” 

“Ben—”

“Don’t you ‘Ben’ me, Sammy. You were my backbone for months. Whatever spark that I have, it would have gone out a hundred times without you. The people here love you. Jack in the box Jesus, you punched Mayor Grisham! It doesn’t get much sparkier than that.” He stopped, cocking his head to the side in contemplation. “I think I’m losing the spark metaphor a bit. Whatever. The point is, you’re strong as hell. You’re my best friend, and I love you, and I would not have made it this far without you.” 

“Shit,” Sammy breathed, tears welling up unbidden. “Ben, I’m—I’m really fucking sorry if I’m wrong about this.” He shifted forward, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth. Ben caught Sammy before he could move away, hands cupping either side of his face, keeping him close. 

“Not wrong,” he got out, hoarse, and then he was kissing Sammy again. 

Ben tasted like salt, which on second thought was probably Sammy’s own tears. They broke apart but kept their arms around each other, holding on tight. “Can I,” Sammy started. He stopped and swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Can I stay here tonight?” 

Before he could keep talking, before he could start any attempt to take it back or play it off like a joke or like it wouldn’t break his heart to go to bed alone, Ben leaned forward to kiss him again. It was glancing, Ben’s lips on the corner of Sammy’s mouth. 

“Of course,” Ben murmured. And when he smiled at Sammy like that, all soft and sappy, for the first time in months Sammy felt like he was at home. 


	5. the truth is (i feel better)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote this and then went and reread nebulia's [_no idea that you're in deep_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8793817) and realized that this fic is very heavily inspired by that one? so go read that!!! it's EXTREMELY GOOD! this also came from tumblr, prompted by my lovely gf who indulges my love for samben even though they don't listen to the show. [cross-posted here!](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/181066825342/11-its-just-a-nosebleed-it-happens-every-time) hot take: everyone should write a samben nosebleed fic at least once in their life. it's a good trope brent.

Ben flinched as Sammy dabbed at his face with a damp paper towel. “Sorry, sorry, keep going.” He sat on the edge of the station bathroom counter, leaning forward into Sammy’s hands. It was just after their shift, featuring an interview with a particularly… interesting guest. 

Sammy shook his head, but he was smiling. “I can’t believe you punched that guy.” He had one hand carefully cupping the side of Ben’s jaw, holding him still. Ben actively did not notice how the tips of Sammy’s fingers were cold, the firm press of them refreshing against his bruised cheekbones. 

“He was being super gross,” Ben declared. He sniffled slightly and made a face. “Ugh, I can taste blood.” 

Sammy tipped Ben’s head to one side, eyeing the way the light played over the bruise across his nose and right eye. There were a few small scrapes across the skin from the ring the man had been wearing, but all the actual bleeding had stopped. Sammy dropped the soiled paper towel he’d been using in the trash, but didn’t step away from Ben to go get a bag of frozen peas or a cold pack or painkillers or anything useful like that. 

He just stayed, standing between Ben’s knees with one hand on Ben’s face. “Do you need to put new tissues in your nose?” he asked.

Ben shook his head and promptly winced. “Jack in the box Jesus, remind me not to shake my head any time in the near future. Or like. Ever again. I forgot how dizzy nosebleeds make me.” 

“Have a lot of nosebleed experience, do you?” 

“It’s just a nosebleed.” Ben shrugged and Sammy clicked his tongue disapproving, moving his free hand to Ben’s shoulder to keep him from moving. “It happens every time it’s dry and I get punched in the face.”

“Gee, really?” Sammy asked, voice dry as a riverbed in midsummer. “I hadn’t noticed.” 

Ben went to shove him, grinning despite himself. Sammy let go of Ben’s shoulder to catch Ben’s hand with his own before it made contact, holding onto Ben’s wrist securely. 

There was a second when neither of them knew what to do. 

Of course it was Ben who acted first. Ben, all reckless and risky and willing to do anything for the chance for his friends to be happy. Ben with the purple-blue bruise across half of his face, the dark eyes and pretty smile and ridiculous laugh. 

It was Ben who tugged Sammy’s hand towards his face, turned it over so Sammy’s palm was facing up, and kissed the inside of his wrist. 

Sammy couldn’t breathe. 

“Is this…” Ben cleared his throat. “This doesn’t have to be anything.” 

“But can it?” Sammy asked, before he was even aware of what he was saying. 

He was still standing between Ben’s legs and he took a step forward, almost on instinct. His waist ran up against the counter, cold and angular. Ben was holding onto the lapels of Sammy’s shirt, crumpling the flannel in white-knuckled fists. When had that happened? 

With his hold on Sammy’s shirt, it was easy for Ben to pull him forward into a kiss. 

It was a little rougher than probably wise, especially with Ben’s bruised face. He made a sound, a whine just this side of pain rather than pleasure, and Sammy backed off. 

Well, not literally. Ben had brought his legs up, pinning Sammy close to him with his knees and thighs. But he leaned away just far enough to let Ben catch his breath. “You okay?”

Ben was grinning at him, helpless and flushed and the cutest goddamn thing Sammy had ever seen. “I’m real good. Real, real good.” He still held onto Sammy’s shirt with one hand, but he let go with the other to reach up and push Sammy’s hair out of his face. 

“Shouldn’t we get you some ice or something?” Sammy asked. 

He had to at least  _ try _ to be the responsible one here. 

“I don’t know,” Ben said, and that was definitely a smirk on his face now. “I think it would be  _ much _ more helpful to kiss it better.” 

Sammy was fighting a losing battle with his attempts to be responsible, but as long as losing meant Ben’s lips on his and Ben’s hands in his hair, he really, really didn’t mind. 


	6. against the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon compliant up to episode 78, first loser! set just after that episode. they've been run out of town by the angry mob and are hiding out in the station and, of course, there is Only One Bed. also it's a couch, technically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks 2 richard siken for like five different fic titles, of which this is one, and to orchidbreeze for cheerleading!!!!

It's late.

Late enough that it's technically early, probably, but Ben doesn't care. The show fucked over his sleeping schedule a long time ago, and he's made peace with the idea of being awake when the rest of the world is asleep. Sammy's asleep next to him, curled like a closed parenthesis around Ben’s side.

Every time Ben breathes in, the movement of his chest raises and lowers Sammy's head along with it. 

At least Sammy's asleep. 

They've been sleeping like this increasingly often. It started back in Ben's apartment. It had just been easier, to have the other there when they woke up. And now the station only has the one couch anyway, so… Why not? Besides, this way there’s less chance of forgetting where or when you are, of waking up and feeling like you're still falling into the void. It's… fine. Ben's fine with it. 

Sammy sighs in his sleep and turns his face further into Ben's shirt. 

He's not gonna be that guy, Ben promises himself. Sammy needs a friend right now. Just a friend.

They're both in a fucked-up situation right now, what with the whole being trapped in the goddamn station unable to broadcast because if they do, then the mob with literal pitchforks will know that they're there. Most people think they skipped town. 

The only reason hiding in the station's worked for so long is that the other employees usually there are on “temporary leave,” and the townsfolk don't believe Sammy and Ben could stay in the station for so long without broadcasting anything. Or as HFB III would put it, “attempting to feed their libel into the ears of the trusting townsfolk.” 

Yeah. Fuck that dude.

He stares into the darkness. There’s no one here but him and Sammy: no cars driving by this far up the mountain; no view of the town far below from this room’s one window. 

They are, for all intents and purposes, alone. Ben shakes his head and breathes deep. He glances down to make sure that Sammy is still asleep. There’s no change in the steady movements of Sammy’s breathing. His face remains taut, even in sleep, muscles drawn tight and jaw clenched shut. 

Ben should probably just let it go. Sammy will get through whatever dream he’s having. He’ll relax and be fine and Ben shouldn’t disturb him. 

But then Sammy makes this—this horrible, small sound. The kind of sound someone makes when they’ve been trying not to cry for so long that they’ve forgotten how to cry at all. 

And that’s it, Ben has little self control at the best of time and that goddamn sound is more than enough to wreck it. He wraps his arms around Sammy, one on his waist and the other stroking along his hair. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “I promise, I’m not leaving,  _ we’re _ not leaving. We’re gonna figure this out.” 

“Hm?” Sammy’s voice is rough, and he barely opens his eyes. 

“Sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Ben’s hand stilled on the back of Sammy’s neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

Sammy shifted to meet Ben’s gaze. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and Ben itches with the probably super weird desire to rub it away. His irises are so gray in this light that they’re nearly colorless. “Don’t stop,” he says, almost too quiet for Ben to hear. 

Ben doesn’t make him say it again. “It’s okay.” He tugs Sammy a little closer, aligning them from shoulder to hip to ankle. Sammy’s all elbows and knees but Ben doesn’t care,  _ can’t _ care when Sammy hums a little and lets his head fall back against Ben’s chest. 

The room falls silent. Ben combs his fingers through Sammy’s hair loosely and tells himself he’s going to sleep soon. 


	7. the dreams we should be having

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from a prompt by the excellent feuer-fight on tumblr, cross-posted [here!](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/182834076477/you-enjoying-the-view-over-there-samben)

Ben’s couch was a fine place to sleep. It was long enough to fit Sammy, which was a miracle in and of itself, given Ben’s own height. Throw a sheet over it, snag an extra comforter? You’ve got yourself an extra bed for one homeless radio jockey. 

And yet… Sammy hasn’t slept there since his first night at Ben’s apartment. It’s fine; they’re fine. Ben and Sammy are good friends who can absolutely sleep in the same bed and keep everything totally platonic and  _ fine _ . 

When they take Lily in, she’s too drunk to notice that the couch isn’t already made up for a guest or to ask where  _ is _ Sammy sleeping, after all? 

She definitely notices later, though. Sammy had hoped she just wouldn’t mention it, but he should have known the universe would never be so kind to him. 

A few days have passed and she’s standing in the kitchen at an hour that is either way too early or way too late for caffeine, poking at the coffeemaker. Sammy is admittedly also going in there to get coffee, but he has a show to do later and so has a good excuse for the late-night snack. The lights are out when he enters the kitchen, and all of Lily’s concentration is on the machine in front of her.  

And maybe what he’s about to do is a little juvenile, but whatever, Lily’s definitely been meaner to him. “So.” Sammy flicks on the light and crosses his arms, summoning every inch of that ‘Dad Friend’ energy he can. “Where have you been, young lady?” 

Lily swears under her breath and jumps back away from the coffeemaker. “Jesus, Stevens, warn a woman!” 

Sammy shrugs and steps further into the kitchen. “You were the one standing in here with the lights off like a home invader. Ben keeps a baseball bat under his bed, Lily, you could have been seriously injured!” He makes his voice as solicitous as possible, fake sympathy dripping from his mouth. 

Lily just flips him off. 

The two of them regard each other for a moment—both with matching dark circles and (unfortunately) matching messy buns in their hair, standing in a kitchen that isn’t really their own. 

“Want some help with the coffeemaker?” Sammy offers. The words are the closest he can get to an olive branch without actually bringing up any of their issues. 

“Fine,” Lily mutters. She steps aside and waves a hand at the machine. “Knock yourself out.” 

He gets to work starting up the machine, content to do so in silence. Lily pulls herself up to sit on the counter nearby and watches him. Presumably so she can make her own coffee at the witching hour on some other night. 

“Where is Ben right now, anyway?” 

Sammy glances up from the coffee filter he’s putting in at the question. “Huh? Oh, he’s still sleeping.” 

“In his bed.” 

He looks at Lily for a second before answering, trying to look as unimpressed as a man in fuzzy sheep-patterned pajama pants is able. “Yes, in his bed. Have you heard of those things, Lily? Normal people sleep in them.” 

His mistake becomes obvious the moment Lily’s mouth curls up on one side, because Sammy knows that grin and it has never meant anything but insufferable teasing. “I hear they do that, yeah. You slept in one lately?” 

“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer.” Sammy may as well be waving a white flag.  _ Shotgun’s got blood in the water, and Wright’s going in for the kill _ . 

“I knew it!” Lily hisses. “You’re sleeping with Ben.”

“Again: question, answer? Not happening.” 

“That wasn’t a question.” Lily hops off of the counter and puts one hand on her hips, holding up the other to count off her statements. “One, Ben does not have a guest bedroom. I am sleeping on his couch. You’ve gotta be sleeping somewhere, Sammy. Two. You literally  _ just _ walked out of his bedroom at fucking midnight. What were you doing in there, playing checkers? Three, and there is no way you can deny this because those pants barely hit mid-shin on you, you are wearing the man’s pajamas.” 

Shit, these  _ were _ Ben’s.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Lily walks up to Sammy and pokes him in the chest. “I don’t give two shits what you two get up for yourselves, but seriously, does his girlfriend know about this? I didn’t think you were the homewrecker type.” 

“Fuck you, Lily!” he snaps. “It’s not like that!” Sammy slams the lid of the coffeemaker shut with more force than is strictly necessary. 

“Again. Wearing his pants.” She’s not smiling anymore, just glaring at him with that stupid steely look that’s just like her brother’s. 

Sammy shakes his head. “Lily, I mean it. We’re—fine, we are  _ both sleeping in his bed _ , and in that sense, we’re sleeping together. But it’s not anything more than that!” 

“That’s what Jack said the first night he spent at your apartment.” 

“That is not fucking fair and you know it.” 

Lily raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m right, though. You enjoying the view over there in Denial Town?” 

“It’s just peachy.” Sammy jabs the button to start the coffeemaker going and resolutely does not look back over at Lily. 

She sighs. “Look, don’t get all defensive on me. I just don’t want any of you to get hurt. Emily and Ben are revoltingly cute. And I may not know Ben, but I know you. And I knew—you know. Ben’s a lot like him.”

Sammy stares at the steady drip of coffee. “Say one word about ‘my type,’ Lily, I dare you.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Just think about it, okay? I’m gonna… I’m gonna go. I’ll wake you guys up when the coffee is done.” Her hand is on his shoulder for a brief second. And then she shuffles back off into the living room, leaving Sammy alone. 

The coffeemaker percolates away, quietly bubbling. He lets it continue and heads back into Ben’s bedroom. Ben sits up slightly at Sammy’s entrance, squinting at him in the dark. 

“You okay, buddy?” 

“I’m fine,” Sammy murmurs. “Go back to bed, Ben.” 

Ben doesn’t lie back down till Sammy’s lying next to him. No part of their bodies touch, but the weight and warmth of him next to Sammy is comforting. More comforting than Sammy would like to admit. Lily probably has a point in telling him to think about it. 

Sammy wakes up an hour or two later with Ben curled into his side, his face shoved into Sammy’s shirt, and resolutely does not think about it one bit.


	8. bound to the breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted and cross-posted on tumblr [here!](http://wendy-comet.tumblr.com/post/184051436957/we-should-change-those-bandages-for-the-buddy) thanks to domirene and feuer-fight both :D

“We should change those bandages,” Ben says, and his voice is softer than Sammy’s heard it in a long time. The kind of softness Sammy had thought was reserved for Emily, these days. 

Sammy shrugs and looks away; he can’t bear to have Ben’s eyes on him like this. 

The two of them are sitting on the floor by Ben’s coffee table, Sammy’s left arm lying palm-up on the table between them. He’s got some adhesive gauze wrapped around the lower end of his arm, but there’s red staining the top layers of the bandage and a dull ache to it that pounds every time he tries to move. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

Ben scrunches up his face in disbelief. “Sammy, we had a  _ brick _ thrown through our break room window and it hit your fucking arm! It’s okay if you’re not fine!” 

There’s probably something Sammy should do other than shrug again, but he can’t think of anything else. “It barely scraped me.” He can feel Ben’s eyes on him, a niggling sensation in his peripheral vision. Regardless, Sammy stares at the blank TV screen in front of him. Making eye contact feels like defeat, somehow. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Sammy.” Ben moves closer and kneels in front of him, close enough that it’s difficult for Sammy to avoid his gaze. “Please, I promise, I just want to help. If you don’t want to change the bandages, we don’t have to, but  _ please _ , please just talk to me.” 

A nasty voice inside of Sammy tells him that Ben says that so often, so loudly, it seems like Sammy never gets the chance to actually respond. Sammy just gets bulldozed into whatever plan Ben thinks will save him this time, and it only ever digs a deeper hole. He can’t say that out loud, though, not with Ben making those sad, sad eyes at him. 

Which is exactly the problem. 

Ben reaches to brush his fingers over Sammy’s upturned palm, and Sammy flinches away on instinct. “Just—not now, Ben, okay?” The quick movement sets the graze on his arm on fire, fresh blood itching as it stains the gauze. He does his best to hide the feeling, showing nothing more than a crease in his brow and biting down on his bottom lip. Distraction from big pain with little pain. Works like a charm.

The worry in Ben’s face as he draws his hand back is not something Sammy ever wants to cause again, but he tells himself it’s better this way. He’s already been so much of a burden to Ben, and there’s bound to be a breaking point to Ben’s charity at some point. 

“Are you sure?” 

Sammy ignores how quiet Ben’s voice is, how gentle his tone. “Definitely. Go get some breakfast with Emily or something, I’ll—I’ll be fine.” He waves Ben off with his non-injured arm.

It doesn’t hurt at all when Ben seems to take him at his word, standing up and walking off down the hallway. The feeling is absolutely  _ not _ equivalent to a brick to the head. 

Once Ben is out of eyeshot, Sammy squeezes his eyes shut and breathes as slowly and deeply as he can bear. His arm is all pins and needles, and he can’t shake this white-noise ringing from his ears. In an effort to give him something, anything, to concentrate on other than that, he tightens his left fist slowly. The tendons in his arm scream at him, and the red patch on the bandage is spreading, and he still can’t seem to hear anything beyond that awful fucking ringing that’s starting to sound like Jack, calling his name from across an unthinkable void, and if he just pushes a little further he can touch his fingertips to his palm, and—

“Jesus Christ, Sammy! Sammy!” And Ben’s at his side, supporting Sammy’s waist and injured arm with more care than Sammy’s ever earned in his life. 

Sammy wants to tell Ben he just needed a minute and that Ben should get the fuck out of here, get going and have a great time with Emily,  _ without  _ Sammy, but he can’t seem to find the air. 

His throat cracks and he wheezes out something like Ben’s name. 

Ben folds Sammy into his arms, kneeling up to fit Sammy’s head under his chin. He’s barely tall enough to do so, even with Sammy sitting cross-legged, but Sammy’s more than willing to slump if it means he can have this even for a moment. “It’s okay,” Ben is promising him, even though it  _ isn’t _ okay. He tilts his head to lean his cheek against Sammy’s hair, then again to kiss Sammy’s forehead. “Just let your arm lie still, buddy, we’re gonna be okay. I just went to get some fresh bandages and a blanket, I promise I’m not going to leave.” 

“Why?” Sammy whispers around the lump in his throat. 

When Ben kneels a little lower, he’s still just tall enough to press his forehead against Sammy’s. With his eyes closed, Sammy can make out the details of every dark lash, the shadows under his eyes, the freckles that are scattered even across his eyelids. It’s too much and Sammy has to close his eyes as well. 

That’s almost worse, though, because that means there’s nothing to distract him from the sound of Ben’s breathing and the warmth of his skin.

“Because I care about you,” Ben murmurs. And for a half-second, Sammy can’t hear the ringing in his ears or remember the throbbing in his arm. All he can hear is Ben, promising to stay.

Sammy hopes Ben’s breaking point is a long, long way away. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop needing Ben to stay. 


	9. take me in your arms (make me "oh")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for feuer-fight on tumblr, with the dialogue prompt of "i’m just going to pick you up."

Ben says it after their show wraps up. As in right after, as in mere seconds after Ben gives their sign-off and switched off their mics. 

“I’m just gonna pick you up.”

Sammy bursts out laughing. “Like hell you are, Ben. Average height you may claim to be, but I am definitely above average in height.” 

Ben sits back in his chair and folds his arms. “I don’t appreciate the use of ‘claim,’ there.” 

“If the elevator shoes fit…” 

Ben sputters. “I—I do not wear elevator shoes! I’m not that short!” 

Sammy doesn’t even dignify that with a verbal response. He just leans back a little and looks Ben up and down with raised eyebrows. More sputtering is all he expects, maybe an offended shove to the arm of his chair. But at Sammy’s once-over, Ben flushes rose-dark across his cheeks and neck. He sits up a little straighter, too, sticks out his chest. 

“Look,” Ben says. He uncrosses his arms, only to clasp them behind his head. “Putting my height aside, I could definitely lift you. I’m stronger than I look!” 

“That shirt is too small for you,” are the words that come out of Sammy’s mouth. He isn’t sure why, because he definitely meant to say something reasonable and witty. Something that would not reveal how incredibly distracting he found Ben’s t-shirt, and the way it clung to his upper arms and stretched across his shoulders. 

Ben’s smirking a little, and Sammy knows his remark did not go unnoticed. “So you don’t disagree.”

How did they even get on this topic? Sammy can’t remember. He’s too busy eyeing the strip of skin revealed where Ben’s shirt has ridden up, revealing the curve of his stomach and the beginnings of dark hair above his waistband. “I…” he begins. 

“Just let me try once!” Ben stands up, stretching more slowly than is really necessary. When he reaches up towards the ceiling, his shirt rides up even higher. There’s the beginnings of a tattoo Sammy’s never noticed before and which he’s going to wonder about for the rest of his life, probably. 

“Sure,” Sammy says faintly, no longer quite certain what he’s agreeing too. This is why they shouldn’t hang around too late after their show. He stands next to Ben, and before he knows it Ben leans down to wrap his arms around— _ Jack-in-the-Box Jesus,  _ wrap them around Sammy’s legs, just beneath his ass.

Ben straightens up, and Sammy’s toes are no longer touching the ground. 

_ Oh. Cool _ , he thinks.  _ Cool, cool, cool. _ He does not even think about not getting a boner because the moment he admits the possibility of that happening, it’s going to happen. Ben’s face is close enough to Sammy’s crotch that there is zero possibility of Sammy hiding  _ anything _ from him. 

“Believe me now?” Ben grunts. 

Sammy believes him. Sammy believes him so much that he’s not sure he can say words, ever again. “Mhhm,” he gets out, just loud enough for Ben to hear him. “Could you, uh. Put me down.” 

Ben drops him, a little, unable to stay stable enough to bend his knees while holding Sammy. He’s grinning far too smugly, and Sammy can’t think of a single joke to get back in control of the situation.

“Like I said, I’m stronger than I look.” 

“Yeah,” Sammy acquiesces, because the faster he agrees with Ben the faster he can get out of this station and go home to think long and hard about how it felt when Ben fucking  _ picked him up _ even though he was a good four or five inches shorter than Sammy. “No arguments here, buddy.” His mouth is running on autopilot, which is a bad plan in the best of times, and is possibly the worst of all plans here and now. “You’ve proved yourself at least twunk levels of strength, great job.” 

Sammy is going to go jump in Lake Hatchenhaw and beg Kingsie to eat him. 

Ben laughs so hard he cries. “Let’s—let’s go get breakfast. I think you need some fuel, Sammy.” He rubs tears from the corners of his eyes and beams at Sammy. “And I’ve gotta keep up this  _ twunk physique _ .” 

“If you ever say those words again, I will feed your overnight oats to the raccoons,” Sammy threatens. He doesn’t mean it, and Ben knows it. 

They keep bantering all the way out to the parking lot, and when they each get out of their cars at Rose’s, they pick back up like they hadn’t even left off. Things haven’t been this easy between Sammy and—well, anyone—in a long time. It’s been years since he’s been out to anyone besides his mirror, and the realization that he can make jokes like that now without the terror of outing himself to someone is… really nice, actually.

Sammy pulls Ben into a hug in their booth at Rose’s, and Ben doesn’t even ask him why. He just hugs Sammy back without hesitation, smiling widely enough that Sammy can feel it where Ben’s face is pressed into his neck. 

For once, Sammy thinks things might actually turn out okay.


End file.
